A New World Order
by Duker-2014
Summary: Mutants are being slaughtered. When the war between the two species at its most critical the Professor falls into an unexplained coma, leaving the X-Men at a turning point. The government re-issues the SENTINEL program to defend the nation from being enslaved. The X-Men must unite when hope is lost and pay the price for freedom. A mutant revolt must being. Nothing will be the same.
1. Genesis pt 1

_"Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages." ~ _Thomas Edison

Chapter 1: Genesis

_Homo-sapiens. The dawn of humanity. A pinnacle of imperfection. Their existence has ravaged civilization which has been defined by years of war, famine, disease, intolerance. They will annihilate anything beneath themselves and fear what they are incapable of understanding. In order to save the world, humanity must be replaced by a higher class of being. A mutant revolt must begin._

Xavier's School for Higher Learning stood just outside the grounds of Westchester, New York. Green fields of grass and trees molded the landscape, save for the large circular design of the driveway leading up to its fixture that encompassed a maze of perfectly trimmed bushes. Two light poles stood opposite each other every fifty feet along the cement. A secondary pathway traveled along the right side of the school, through a thick mass of trees, leading to a basketball court behind the backside of the structure, ending at the foot of the court and continuing to an in-grown pool ten feet farther. The school itself, a stories high, large mansion with architecture right out of the mid-1800's, a Victorian stronghold, constructed with dark gray stone, stood at the front of the sweeping lawn.

The institute was one of only a few areas around the world where mutants could live without ridicule. Instead, Xavier's school provided the warmth and humble nature that mutants, adult and children, wouldn't get in a public school or civil environment. They were encouraged to be themselves and were taught to control their powers and in rare cases, the more experienced students joined their teachers on the front lines in defending the Xavier philosophy.

Classes were scheduled to last periodically throughout the day, much like a college or university, and students were already halfway through their normal routine. Hallways were filled with rows of students going to and from class and teachers rushing to prepare for their next lecture like the rush of a morning drive.

One teacher in particular, Dr. Hank McCoy was one of the only instructors who taught multiple classes in the academy, which included mostly mathematics and a majority of the sciences, including biochemistry and genetics lectures on bio-science, chemistry, physics, and even courses on Shakespeare. This semester he chose to teach biology.

Hank was a mutant with a rare, animalistic appearance. A thick coat of Persian blue fur, cut and trim to maintain a well-mannered and welcoming appearance would make anyone but those closest to him uneasy, and invited the code name of Beast, one he scoffed at. But that was when he lived a normal life, when his mutation was easy to hide.

Hank stood at the front of a small classroom, ready to address the group of twenty five young, mutant students who had recently entered, putting their belongings on desks that formed an arch before him. His yellow eyes peered through the small, squared lens of his reading glasses which rested comfortably against the bridge of his nose.

"Good afternoon class. I trust your minds are as ready as your bodies are for today's exciting journey into the works of one of my personal idols, Charles Darwin" Hank said, holding a copy of Darwin's book "The Origin of the Species" at eye level for the class to see. The sight sent one student into a worry.

"Uh, Dr. McCoy," the student began. If he were standing upright, his stature would slightly exceed Hank's, though his build was average. His combed, black hair, swept back from his forehead, with freckles sparsely placed along his cheeks underneath his pair of blue eyes.

"Jimmy, I've told you this before, you are free to call me Hank."

"Right." The young mind paused for a second, a mere blink of an eye's time. "Hank, we don't have to purchase this book do we?"

Beast laughed. It wasn't the first time he heard the question, but it never ceased to catch his humor off guard. "Of course not. I have plenty of copies from my own personal library you are free to use, if you feel so inclined to do so. But, this text isn't required. It's simply going to be used as a resource than as an examination guide. Rest easy son."

The young man sighed in pleasure.

"If there are no more questions, we shall begin." Beast looked around the room and saw no hands raised, a signal to start his lecture. "Darwin says, 'it is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent. It's the one that has the ability to adapt to change." He grabbed a long pointer that lay across his desk and held it up in the thick palm of his apelike hand, against the large screen beside him, highlighting a diagram of the evolution of man. "Evolution is the key to our existence, without it, we'd still be in the age of the Neanderthals drawing pictures on the inside of caves." Hank removed his reading glasses, closed his copy of Darwin's book, and addressed the class that sat before him. "Clearly, there are many who protest Darwin's beliefs and replace them with their own, such as those who follow Christianity." Hank stepped out from behind his narrow desk and rested along its edge to continue addressing the class. "Now, we shouldn't be condemning Darwin because of his divergence from Christian studies, we should be congratulating him on his intellectual contribution to society, and rightfully so."

Another student shot her hand in the air. She was small in size. Her shoulder length, straight brown hair matched her perfectly captivating brown eyes. Kitty Pryde, a mid-teenage girl, and Beast's prime student, was always one with a topic enhancing question.

"Yes Kitty" McCoy answered.

"Couldn't Darwin's theory of evolution be viewed as an instrument in God's creation of man?"

"A captivating idea."

Kitty smiled upon Beast's compliment and simply nodded as her response.

"What you're fellow student has just pointed out has been wildly debated ever since Darwin released his book. Is evolution attributed to God's own device, or is it simply another means to tell the story of how we came to be? Darwin argued that creation could exist without a mind to guide it and if that's possible, then who knows how that may change mankind."

As McCoy gazed around the classroom, he caught sight of one student drifting in his chair, on the edge of falling out from a stale sense of boredom. "Bobby," he called, alerting the young teen of his disrespect. "Is there something you find not all that interesting about my class?"

Bobby Drake was the class clown of the institute. For him, academics were a bother. He'd rather focus his attention of members of the opposite gender than spend time in a classroom. His curly blond hair and natural facial features provided more than enough incentive to continue his habit. He was the type of student who fooled around in class, was a distraction to the teacher, but was a surprisingly strong A student. Without ever having to open a textbook or take notes in class, Bobby, Iceman as he came known as due to his mutation, was book smart without having to do a single assignment. It was a gift his mutation didn't offer.

"Yeah," Bobby said, clearly trying to annoy his teacher, "not to be disrespectful teach, but I've read writing off a cereal box that was more interesting than this."

"Well, if you don't feel as strongly as Darwin or your fellow classmates you're more than welcome to leave, but I'd like to remind you that if you leave, it's on grounds of academic penalty. I'd highly encourage you to stay. Who knows? You may actually find Darwin enjoyable, given time."

Bobby's chin returned to rest comfortably in the palm of his right hand, anchored by an arm that stood vertical from his desk, and gave a moan he hear as a failure to achieve his goal of irritating Dr. McCoy. "Doubt it."

Beast returned to the front of the class and continued his lecture, grabbing a pencil and resting it against the back of his ear. "In the words of Madeleine L'Engle, 'our truest responsibility to the world is to paint or sing or write, for only in such response do we find the truth.'" Beast was quite fond of quoting classic English writers and poets, to the point of annoying some faculty with his constant over-usage, especially Logan, who was more animal than he was. In a strange, and almost obvious way, Beast and Logan had formed a close friendship and mutual respect due to the nature of their mutations. Logan gave in to his feral rage more often than he would care to admit, where Beast had tamed his to the point of being almost nonexistent. Hank was proof to Logan that even his inner beast could be tamed. Logan would refuse, and secretly he enjoyed it. Of all the mutants he taught, student or not, Logan proved the most difficult.

Hank brushed his secondary thoughts off to the side and focused his attention back to the class, who had stared blankly at him as his mind drifted off topic. His distraction had been more apparent than he realized. "Sorry class, my mind went somewhere else. Now where was I?" Hank paused, remembering his previous though. "Oh yes" he exclaimed. "The truth is, that our mutation is a natural part of evolution. In time, genetics change, and as a result, our cells mutate to create a new species. Mutants. We are nothing more than homo-sapiens with a few extra chromosomes."

"If we are so similar, why do humans still fear us?" Kitty asked, her eyes beaming with a hope that would put the Professor's to shame.

"That Kitty, is a question I unfortunately cannot answer. My only logical guess would be because we are different enough to cause a threat to a society they have dominated for years. Unfortunately we live in a world with intolerance and oppression built into its core. If humans have their way, all mutants would be erased from civilization."

"What good does it do to sit back and watch it happen?"

"My dear, that's why people like Charles Xavier exist. To keep peace between our race and theirs. But every culture isn't without their own form of supremacy. Ours regrettably is known to many as a mutant terrorist bent on starting a war with our lesser kin."

"You mean Magneto?"

"I do."

A sudden ache overcame Hank. He clenched his stomach and bent over his desk, struggling to catch his breath, sensing pain, tragedy, heartache, and despair, not from his mind, but from one distant, yet close. His ears rang in a painful echo, enough to shatter invisible barriers on the Astro Plain. And just as quick, the sensation was gone.

"Hank? Are you okay?" Jimmy asked, his curiosity evident in his warm-natured character.

A long pause followed his student's question. "I'm sorry class, we'll continue this tomorrow. You are free to leave." After a seconds hesitation the students packed their belongings and left Beast's classroom in a mannerly order. Something had gone terribly wrong. This only happened in rare instances during the Professor's use of the mutant tracker Cerebro. Seeing that Hank was making adjustments to the device before he left to teach his class, that could't be the explanation. Only one thing was for sure.

There was something very wrong with the Professor.


	2. Genesis pt 2

Chapter 1: Genesis pt. 2

By the time Hank entered the Xavier's office, Xavier had already collapsed on the floor, his face pale, vague, and emotionless, with three other faculty near him, one woman, and two men, one man kneeling over him, and the other two standing upright. A cup of freshly spilled tea lay next to them, still dripping from the edge of the Professor's desk, and soaking into the steaming carpet.

The one kneeling was Scott Summers, code-named Cyclops, Xavier's prime pupil, and challenged ruler of the mutant strike force, the X-Men. As Xavier's first student, Scott was a surrogate son, the first in line of many. If anything was wrong with Charles, Scott felt it was his obligation to step up and take care of things in his absence. It was because of Scott's authoritative qualities that he was placed as Xavier's right hand. Instances like this however, were an entirely different matter.

Aside from certain, restrictive qualities, Scott Summers had the look and charm of a self-made man. A proven leader, a boy scout, as some called him. Summers was clean cut, had fair lines to his face, smooth auburn hair, complete with a slight Nebraskan accent. He hid his eyes behind a pair of ruby quartz lenses, which acted as a protective shield, reinforced to deflect red, high optic beams from projecting out of his eyes. They were powerful enough to level an entire building in an instant, and were capable of melting the flesh from another person's body. Surprisingly, they had no affect on his own but they caused more pain than a standard headache.

Beside Scott, stood a slim redhead, whose hand was placed delicately on his left shoulder. Her cherry red lips, forest green eyes, and her perfectly formed figure captivated every man who set eyes on her. Only one pair of eyes stole her heart, Scott's. She dreamed of one day seeing his eyes in their natural form more than Scott desired normal sight. But her love of him was entirely pure and were perfect compliments of each other.

Like Scott before her, Jean was the child Xavier never had, and he treated her as such. Her beauty wasn't only in her appearance but in her power. She was the only class five mutant Xavier had ever encountered and he pushed her to strive for perfection. As a telepath, her powers were practically limitless and rivaled the Professor's.

On the other end of the office, Logan stood isolated, keeping a distance in his expected gruff manner, yet fully coherent and emotionally attached to the situation. His eyes never once drifted from the Professor, even if Jean Grey was in his line of vision. Her matchless beauty never went unnoticed. Logan stirred, his eyes saying what his mouth wouldn't. His right hand combed over a thread of his bang and brushed it back, exhaling silently as he did. A part of him wished he wouldn't have come to the institute for fear of endangering himself and those around him. The Professor had invited him in when he had no where else to go, when he felt stranded and lost. In some ways, he still did.

Logan excused himself, brushing Hank's shoulder as he approached, Jean's eyes following him on the way out, making it hard for Scott not to notice.

"Professor," Scott said, kneeling by his side. He placed his arms around him in attempt to lift him from the floor. Xavier's body was cold, and unresponsive.

"Don't touch him Scott" Hank began, looking over them "we don't know what his mind in this fragile state could do."

Scott removed his palm before he could touch him and stood up, making way for Hank to take his place.

"Charles, Charles can you hear me?" Hank asked.

Charles' body was limp. His face was a light shade of white, almost the color of the dress shirt under his blue jacket. Hank pressed his index and middle fingers firmly against the side of Xavier's neck, unable to find an active pulse.

"We need to get him down to medical."

* * *

Beneath the grounds of the Xavier Institute were hidden tunnels kept secret from the public eye, a subbasement built with a primary means of mutant affairs. The walls were coated with a heavily metallic substance that reflected motion from it's futuristic surface like a dyslexic mirror. One main corridor led to a series of subsequent channels and rooms, each designed for a unique purpose. An X-shaped doorway marked the entrance for every distinct room, each coated in the same reflective surface as the walls.

Inside the medical room, Xavier lay on an examination table, wired to different machines, while Beast operated the computer, looking for the reason for the manifestation resulting in Xavier's mental attack.

"It seems what Charles went through is nothing more than a mere anxiety attack" Beast calculated in a tone that made it sound he was surprised by the findings, "yet, something far more severe."

"Explain Hank" Scott said, almost harshly.

"Charles' mind is unresponsive, yet his vitals are reading normal. It appears that something is blocking us from it, like a psychic cocoon. It's quite a remarkable phenomenon."

"What kind of 'phenomenon' Hank?" Scott asked.

"For that, you'd have to ask the Professor."

Beast removed the reading glasses and held them against his thigh while he puzzled over the situation, his finger rubbing the flexed bridge of his nose in disdain. Xavier's readings were normal by comparison, but evidence did not support how or why the Professor was in a mental coma.

"It may take some time before I can find anything valuable that could lead to some sort of explanation, but for right now, I'm afraid Charles will be in this coma until his mind overcomes those physic barriers that are shielding it."

Scott turned to Jean. "Jean, you're a telepath, can't you read the Professor's mind and counteract some of those barriers?"

"Yes but Hank's right Scott, we may not know the extent of the damage. I can't just tamper with his mind without knowing what's fighting it. It could kill him."

"The best thing now," Beast interjected, "is to let the Professor rest and see if whatever's holding him at bay lets loose so we can begin to repair some of the damages."

"How long will it take, Hank?" Scott asked, looking back at the doctor, afraid of the answer.

"With a mind like Charles', it's far too soon to tell. No discernible fraction of time exists. It may take days, weeks, even. All I know is that without further tests, we won't know the extent of the damages, if there are any."

"Great" Scott groaned. "What now? Are we supposed to sit back and do nothing?" Scott grew irritated. As calm as he tried to appear, patience was never the strongest part of his character.

"You sound like Logan" Hank mentioned.

Scott didn't realize it until he had a time to process it, but Hank was right, and the thought made him cringe. Being compared to Logan was one of the biggest insults Scott could imagine, though, he knew Beast didn't mean any harm by it. Everyone at the institute knew Logan and Scott didn't see eye to eye, and would often go out of their way to deliberately irritate the other, subtle or obvious. It made putting up with him a little easier.

"I'm sorry Hank," Scott motioned. "I'm not used to seeing the Professor so, helpless."

"Nor am I Scott," Hank said gently, placing his hand on Scott's shoulder for comfort. "Charles is strong, and you shouldn't be so quick to dismiss what he's capable."

"You're right" Scott sighed.

"I'll stay down here with Charles and run some more tests. I'll let you know the second I discover anything new about his condition."

"Thanks Hank." Scott placed his hands around Jean's shoulders and ushered her from the side of the Professor's medical bed. Jean let Scott lead her out of the room and only broke gaze with the Professor when the metallic doors shut behind them.

"You feeling okay Jean?" Scott asked, sensing something wasn't right.

"I'm worried about the Professor. I've never seen him so vulnerable, so defenseless." Scott's embrace couldn't calm her, much to her surprise. Usually all she'd need was his warmth, and his body next to hers, and everything would feel right. Not today. "Scott, I'm scared. I felt what went through the Professor's mind. It was angry, determined to cause injury, not only to humans, but mutants. Whatever happened downtown I feel is going to happen again, only I feel next time it will be worse."

Scott held her close in his arms, unable to stop the tears from wetting her face and spoke to her in almost a whisper, "Then we'll be there, to stop this from happening again." Scott wasn't so sure of himself this time. He didn't believe the words even though they came from his mouth, but he didn't show it. His strong, powerful façade kept his true feelings at bay, and even though Jean was a telepath, he trusted her enough not to pry.

Logan stood on the far side of the room, watching Scott and Jean in their private moment, the desire in his eyes never being fulfilled. He thought it was selfish, thinking only of Jean instead of focusing on the Professor's health or the events that happened downtown. He couldn't help it when she was in plain sight. Logan scoffed at the one-way conversation he was having with his interior monologue and brushed the thoughts aside for the moment in a silent snarl. It was obvious he was displeased with himself, though he would never let the others know, another mystery added to his ever-growing list.

Jean caught sight of Logan's gaze from Scott's broad shoulders. Logan pretended not to notice, but they both know he did. Logan was rugged, feral, more aggressive in appearance, attractive in a way Scott wasn't. Scott, on one other hand, was bold, with a natural complexion that was a perfect compliment to hers. Scott was the ideal choice, Logan, was an attraction purely based in fantasy, strictly primal in nature. The chemistry between the two mirrored only intimate attraction. When Jean's eyes locked with Logan's, she felt empowered, full of herself, full of energy even her telepathic powers couldn't match. Logan flexed a friendly, yet regrettable smile and Jean's heart almost caved to her inner demands. She fought herself, forcing the inappropriate thoughts from her collective conscience and focused on the man who held her close, wishing, only for a second, it was someone else.

Scott held Jean at arm's length, with her shoulders still in his hands, and met her eyes face level. He smiled before kissing her and in that instant, Jean's worries faded into her subconscious. In that moment, Jean sensed something was wrong.

"Guys," Jean said, breaking the tension, "something's happening downtown."

Scott turned the television on a news station. A female reporter stood in front of a ravaged city street looking as if it came from a post-apocalyptic movie screen. Fires raged in the background while firefighters effortlessly battled to calm the flames. Hundreds of empty and bent plastic chairs scattered the fractured cement where a risen, wooden platform was on the brink of falling into an unseen abyss. The camera paused on the reporter's face in shock, yet calm and professional enough to hardly be noticed. After a second of gathering her thoughts and maintaining a comprehension of her surroundings, she began her report. The caption read:

MURDER IN MUTANT TOWN.

_"This is the scene, where just moments ago, a group of mutant protesters were murdered during an anti-mutant rally in what the mutant community refers to as Mutant Town. The assault took place only thirty minutes ago and as you can see behind me, the Mutant Responce Division are containing the remains of the outbreak. Now, the mutant victims have not been identified but it is believed the situation got out of hand when the several non-mutants who organized the rally opened fire on the mutants who began to riot. It is still unclear if the M.R.D had any involvement iin the attack. Our very own Senator Robert Kelly had this to say."_

_"In one of the many mutant towns in this country, the recent development in District X has just proven what I have been saying for years. Mutants present a threat not only to their own society, but also to our national security. This make-shift 'community' of theirs has long since been a source of one of the highest crime rates in all of the United States. Poverty, famine, illiteracy, these are just some of the things that mutants have burdened this society with. Until we clean up their mess, this will continue to affect how we move on to the next stage of our existence. We all know what needs to happen to prevent such disaster. Mutants need to register with the government so every non-mutant can feel safer."_

The colored TV screen abruptly turned black and the only noise in the room was the silent sound of internal thought of the faculty and students watching the broadcast. Scott set the remote down on the table he sat across from him and stared blankly into the screen, his mind solely on the matter at hand. The world never seemed so bleak, and even with his eyes, a vision shaded in medium red, he wondered how the world was looking back. Scott already knew the answer. Mutants like Magneto and his Brotherhood fueled society's hateful opinions that every mutant were as harmful. It was a never ending battle that even the Professor thought at times he'd never win. In those instances sometimes Scott thought the Professor was right.

Scott rose from the couch, his rage hidden behind his ruby quartz glasses, and walked toward the nearest window, where Jean Grey had gazed out to clear her head. He placed his hand on her shoulder in such an intimate, yet social way that made her worries seem not as important. Her soft hair touching his skin made him feel the same. He admired the way her perfect being fell into his and how the smile she made when he touched her put him at ease. Scott stared ahead, to the trees that stood outside the mansion, and the blue skies that never seemed to dim, thinking how the world would be without prejudice. Being with Jean was the only form of peace he understood. Her whole being was built to withstand even the slightest form of judgment, after all, he, like her, shared a genetic mutation. Only hers was easy to hide.

"This has gone too far" Scott burst, his body gestures frantic, and his pacing sparse.

"You act like this surprises you" Jean added.

"You know, maybe Magneto's right. Maybe the only way for us to survive in this world is to fight back." Scott sighed heavily and looked down at the floor. After seconds he stared out the window where Jean was just moments ago. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to caress his tense muscles. The gentleness of her fingers eased Scott's anxiety. He turned his head and embraced Jean in an passionate kiss.

"Tell me you don't mean that."

"I don't I just...I mean, for God's sake Jean, what I am supposed to think? They came into a mutant community and gathered a mob so they could lash out against us and when we stand up for ourselves, in our home, they killed us. That's who you're defending?"

"I'm not defending them. Just calm down."

Scott sighed again, this time is was a much more casual, relaxed form of release. "You're right. You're right. The Professor wouldn't let this get to him."

"You keep talkin' like Chuck a'int around. He's not dead Summers" Logan said with his arms around his chest.

Scott moved past Jean and shorted the distance between himself and Logan until he was staring down on him. "Oh, now you've got something to say? I was beginning to think you didn't care at all Logan."

"I aint sayin' that bub. I know you can't see with your own two eyes but you should know that if didn't care I wouldn't be here. Now would I?"

"Oh, right. That explains why you leave every chance you get."

"Boys. That's enough" Jean interjected, placing herself between the two men. They didn't flinch.

Jean's telepathy could effortlessly restrain both men, that would be the easy solution. And she was tempted. One glimpse in Logan's mind and all the memories burning with anguish and torment would condemn her to sleepless nights. Even if she did, she was afraid she might like it.

"So what are you gonna do?" Logan continued, ignoring Jean's plea, "just sit her with our heads up our ass while those M.R.D bastards kill more mutants?" Logan's breath carried the stench of a fresh cigar, musty like damp urine, it lingered on him for days.

With blatant offensive, Scott remained firm, trying to forget how ignorant a man could be with such heightened senses. "No Logan, we're not," he said, his tone seasoned with a flavor of defiant intolerance.

"Well I ain't waiting around, so you better think of something, and fast. 'Cause every minute we waste, you're putting mutant lives in danger. I hope you can live with that."

"Logan's right Scott" Jean said, soft and very pronounced.

Scott's back was turned to Jean, his only response was a hard sigh masked under genuine regret, almost apologetic. Reluctantly, Scott turned toward the redhead, his brow furrowing and wearing a face of discontent. "Alright, let's move."


	3. Mutant Rising pt 1

Chapter 2:

Mutant Rising (pt. 1)

Patience was not an attribute Bobby Drake was known for, especially when it kept him inside a classroom. Best years of his life? Yeah right. With both ear buds in place, and a mind buried in arms that wrapped him in a cocoon around his desk, that was all he could do to forget he was in class without actually leaving the room. Plus, History wasn't his strongest subject. He had to admit the sight of his instructor, Ororo Munroe, was easier on the eyes than Dr. McCoy. She was breathtaking beautiful. Her eyes were a rich, cobalt blue, the perfect compliment to her coffee-cream complexion, which had the slightest hint of an opaque finish. But the most dramatic feature Bobby found attractive was her long, curly arctic white hair that folded to an end along her shoulders, glistening like a bright silver in any light. He bet even her perfume smelled of sweet velvet. Ororo Monroe, Storm as her students had called her, was a "Goddess of Nature." Her abilities enabled her to control the weather and Bobby had made the obvious choice when he first met her to not let his instructor create a lighting storm in his dorm room. The thought of it sent a smile along his otherwise less than eager face.

He pulled himself from his slouched position and looked toward the front of the classroom where he expected Storm to be getting her lecture together. All he saw was a vacant desk. His expression turned curious. He paid little attention to the other students in the room who were busy reviewing their textbooks and finishing up their homework. His eyes only drifted to one, his kid sister, though not by blood. In a desk across from him sat a petite Kitty Pryde, a cute girl by most standards. She wore a pretty smile that had just the right shade of red to color her thin lips. With straight, dark brown hair that finished along her neckline and matching brown eyes, it was a calm style that never desired a lot attention.

Bobby turned to her and adjusted the volume on his phone before whispering to her. "What's the deal with Ms. O? I never beat her here."

Kitty smiled ever so slightly where you couldn't tell if it was the beginning of a laugh or a start to an unpleasant stare. "No, you're always late by at _least_ ten minutes" she chuckled. "You must be off your game today."

"Very funny."

As close as her and Bobby were, their priorities couldn't have been further apart. Compared to Bobby's active social life, Kitty was somewhat of a recluse who often chose academics over relationships. Bobby would always say the trash went out more than she did, and she never could disagree. The funny thing was, Bobby's grades were still the stronger of the two.

Kitty's smile faded and quickly turned a more casual tone of serious. "As for Storm, I don't know where she is. I'm usually here when she comes in. She's probably with Scott and the others watching over the Professor."

"See, that's what I don't get. I mean, the Professor's supposed to be the most powerful psychic to ever walk the planet and yet somehow he falls into a coma? That doesn't make any sense."

"Since when did we live in a world that made sense?"

If Bobby responded, Kitty didn't hear it. She was too busy lost in her own mind to give his a second thought. When her parents sent her to Xavier's School Kitty thought for once in her life she didn't have to pretend to be someone else. The world would still see her as an outcast with a social disease, but not the students, not her fellow mutants. The Institute gave her and others like her hope when its meaning had long since gone. Xavier founded the school on that belief, to unite a family who had been torn apart after generations of moral slavery. Kitty's fell under that category. When she was younger her brother Chris called her Shadowcat, a playful nickname that he opted for when she kept disappearing during sibling games of hide-and-seek. With a mutation allowed that her to phase through objects, the name was fitting. Like that memory, her brother was the only family she was found of. He always encouraged her to dream and to follow the ones that did the same. When her parents discovered she was a mutant, they disowned her and cast her aside like an outsider, free to any degradation and prejudice that would follow. She used her powers to survive on her own, taking whatever she could from whoever she could. That's when she had a visit from Professor Xavier, who promised her more than a life of on the streets. Without the Professor, would it live on or would it vanish and become forgotten like a relic of a once unified world? Prejudice would always have a place in society and as long as Kitty believed in Xavier's dream, peace would never be lost.

"Kitty?" Bobby asked, jolting her out of her subconsciousness.

In that instant all she saw was an icy hand moving vertically against her eyes. "Yeah?"

"For a moment there it looked like your mind did one of those phasing things, even though I know that's impossible and if it did it would be all over the floor."

The remark caused a slight crease in Kitty's face, just enough to get her to laugh. "I'm sorry it's just... the Professor, he's been like a father to me," she said, brushing aside the remnants of tears from her eyes with trembling hands, "I...what if he doesn't make it?"

"Kitty, you can't think like that."

"What am I supposed to think Bobby?"

Bobby placed his hands over hers and spoke softly. "Hey, look at me, it's the Professor. He'll get through this. Like Kurt always says, we have to have faith. Right?"

The chill of Bobby's arctic touch eased Kitty's unsteady hands. To most, it'd have the opposite affect. When she phased through objects a sharp, yet brief shiver would be on the receiving end. She came to familiarize herself with brisk temperatures and in Bobby's hands, she felt safe. She felt home. Their eyes locked and a simple nod and a moving gesture were the only forms of agreement she offered him, silently wishing for just a moment they were something more.

At the front of the room Ororo Munroe entered, wearing nothing more than a medium gray business suit and a somber expression. Her aura sent the students in a silent panic. Kitty addressed her first, still in Bobby's hands.

"Storm, is the Professor okay?"

"I'm afraid it's too early to tell," Storm began in her thick, African accent, "rest assured child, we will tell you everything when we discover the severity of his condition." She gathered a few things from her desk before feeling the discomfort from her students. Stopping, she scanned the room and her heart sank heavy in her chest. Their eyes looked pale, their faces expressionless but still detailed their every emotion. Storm sighed, and a pressure overcame her. Grabbing her lesson book, she closed it and pushed it off to the side and leaned against the edge of her desk. She studied the eyes that blinded her, analyzing every feature as best she could, jealous for the first time she didn't have a different mutation; Jean's telepathy. Softly, she spoke. "If the worst was to happen, and the Professor doesn't make it you need to know his dream will not die. We will all have different roles to play to make that dream come true. I just hope you don't lose sight of what's important to you. Not only as mutants, but as humans. Whether any one outside of this school or society thinks otherwise, that's what you are. Human. All I can say is I promise, to each and every one of you, this ideal will not be forgotten."

"What if the world won't let us remember?" Kitty asked, sending a chill throughout the room. The sudden shift dropped the temperature by fifteen degrees instantly, and for the first time Kitty's eyes paralyzed Storm, numbing her to the point of breathlessness. Her pupil's essence melted before her in a loss of clarity. The innocence of her wisdom like a question fading from memory slowly came to the surface and at the moment she was crippled. Kitty's statement was a permanent mystery, one Storm didn't prepare for. As an instructor and mentor, she felt obligated to care for all the concerns of her students, but how could she form a response without it turning into a harsh lesson in morality.

Stern, yet beautifully divine, she spoke, hoping the message would resonate. "Then we'll reach out to the skies until the forces of nature lets us remember."

An outside voice redirected Storm's attention. She quickly turned her head and saw Jean Grey leaning against her classroom door; pale, with silent tears leaving a shade of pink on the skin under her eyes. "Storm, you're needed downstairs."

"Thanks Jean." The two women exchanged a brief, yet warm glance of understanding and Storm addressed her class. "You're all free to leave. Due to recent events, classes will be cancelled until further notice. I've also delayed the due date for your research paper by a week. Get some rest, stay safe, and try not to let what's happened here disrupt any of your daily activities. If any of you need anything, you know where to find me and the other instructors. We're here if you need us." She ended her class with a warm smile and met with Jean outside the doorway as her students gathered their materials. "Any news?"


	4. Mutant Rising pt 2

Chapter 2: Mutant Rising (pt. 2)

The Professor had grown far more sickly since Jean left his side. His age wore thin and his once healthy exterior, flushed and full of life had become wrinkled and rigid, clammy, and warm to the touch. Jean hardly recognized him. He lay there sedated in a comatose state, decaying like a rotten apple left in the garbage a week too long. She hovered her hands over him and soothed herself long enough to sense his mind.

His pain was vivid; his will, void. A distant voice kept crying out through a thick cloud of black mass that left its origin shrouded in a cocoon of telekinetic energy. The Professor's spirit was dull, dense, yet longing with a lust to be heard. His voice faded as if it were swallowed by an unknown entity. It grew disoriented until it was nothing more than a faint whisper lost in a countless dreary echo.

Jean saw something in the depths of the Professor's subconscious. Something ominous, and heavy in a mask of grievous and dread, vague, yet hideously persistent. From the hollow mist formed a vicious facade that spread a thickness of evil in a pair of twisted eyes and a wicked grin. The maniacal laughter rang like a menace through the endless sea of blackness before it withered into nothingness. Then there was silence.

Jean let out an harrowing cry. The floor started to vibrate. Pulse after pulse it grew stronger like an irate heartbeat that punished the walls in an uncontrollable tremor. Jean's powers were roaming free, completely unhinged, succumbing several innocent objects to its deadly wake.

Jean's eyes widened, her pulse increased rapidly, and she became stricken to a cold sweat that fell over her body. She shook violently and was thrust into a series of medical devices across the room, with a force strong enough to blow the door wide open and shatter nearby glass containers.

Scott, Hank, and Storm crept through the debris and rushed over to aid the tortured redhead.

The men placed their hands under her arms and helped Jean to her feet, while Storm gathered the remnants of the medical objects that fell to the floor.

"Jean, what happened?" Scott asked, brushing his hand over the bangs that gently caressed her forehead.

Sorrow wept from her shivering lips as she grinned in anguish. Not even Scott's beautiful grace could erase the heavy trauma that had overcome her, even if his warm touch provided a slight comfort against her tender skin. "I saw something in the Professor's mind," Jean began, breathing deep to regain her composure "something powerful. It has him...I fear he doesn't have much longer."

"Unfortunately Jean is right" Hank said. "I calculated the rate at which Charles' health is degrading. The results are sporadic at best, but they should give us an indication of a worse case scenario." Hank retreated to the other side of the room, where the Professor remained undisturbed. He pulled up the various lab reports on the Professor as well as his blood work, MRI scans, and X-Rays. At first Hank flashed a confused expression across his ape-like facade.

"Intriguing, given Jean's recent telekinetic 'outburst' it's amazing these machines even work at all." Hank took a second and admired the wonders of modern technology, forgetting only for a moment that he wasn't the only one in the room.

"Maybe you two should have the room to yourselves" Scott said.

Hank cleared his throat. "Well, uh yes. My apologies. I'll get to the point." He pressed a button on the control panel of a nearby medical device. The blank screen on an adjacent wall lit up with a series of images containing the Professor's MRI brain scans. "Every viable micrometer of Charles' brain came back clean. It appears, scientifically, there is nothing wrong with him." Hank walked over to a cluttered desk and shifted through several papers before returning to the others. "I made every evaluation I could and the only cause for concern were his vitals. They're low, but steady. His pulse hasn't dropped much in the past few hours. I'm hoping that's a good sign."

"I don't understand" Storm said. "If there's nothing wrong with him then why isn't he conscience?"

"Due to the unique nature of Charles' condition, I'm afraid there's no scientific explanation per say. There's only so much I can do with the resources I have, and so far, none of them are helping shed light on the situation."

Scott's back was turned toward them. His soul focus rested uncomfortably on the unconscious Professor. His brow sunk in heavy against his eyes and his mouth twisted into a cold grin reminiscent of the Wolverine. He faced his teammates and slammed an open palm against the glass that covered their mentor. "That also doesn't explain what Jean saw inside the Professor's head. Dammit Hank, we don't have time for you to argue logic with us." Scott's delivery was raw and unapologetic. If he were standing any closer Hank would have questioned his tone. Scott paused for a brief moment and stood quietly, grief mutating his well-mannered facade. He was a man of marginal regrets and took pride in knowing he was commonly on the receiving end of a welcome compliment. This wasn't one of those times. He was sounding too much like Logan. Such a thought left a bitter taste of anguish in his mouth and a lump in his throat. He held on to words he uttered. That, he refused to apologize for.

Scott exhaled long and pronounced then looked Hank in his deep blue eyes. "I'm sorry Hank." He caressed the bridge of his nose in disdain. "Look, why don't you stay here with the Professor, run some more tests and see what you can discover about his condition. Jean, Storm, Logan, and I will canvas Mutant Town, search for survivors, and gather as much Intel as we can while we're there." Scott looked to his right, where the African weather goddess displayed herself in instructor's attire. "And Storm? Find Logan."

There was a silent agreement between them. Storm left the room while Hank returned to his cluttered desk. Scott examined the Professor's body once more before tending to his mentally distant redhead. "Are you okay?" he asked as he massaged her shoulders.

Jean leaned against his chest and fell into his adoring arms. Scott pressed his palm against her forehead and kissed her temple. She was warm, feverish.

"Hey, Jean, look at me."

Jean turned while in his embrace and met him at eye level. "Scott, I'm fine."

"And I believe you. I just..." Scott slid his hand from Jean's forehead to her cheek, and let his thumb rest comfortably against the edge of her lips.

Jean took Scott's hand and held it in her own. "You're not going to lose me Scott. I promise."

Scott smiled and kissed her tenderly.

* * *

Logan preferred the woodlands, especially during a storm. It kept his mind calm and fresh. The scent of pines, the running river, the foul stench of a rotting carcass, all made for peace of mind. Here, his feral side was one with nature, and couldn't be tamed or a subject to violate. Here, Logan had no limits.

Everything was clear, and the air was brisk. Even something as trivial as the cold wind wetting his savage, yet carelessly trimmed sideburns was a welcome change. The way it soiled his burly hair and saturated his pores was pleasant, if pleasant was familiar. His eyes bore aggression toward something in the distance. Suddenly the air was calm no more. Logan sensed a shift. Six armed men at the far end of the woods. By their odor he put their ages between 30 and 35, and races between Caucasian and African. His primal instincts kicked and he drew his claws. He kept still, and silently tracked the scent toward a far away hill. Logan hunched and crept slowly through the murky terrain, careful not to step on any twigs or other debris that would make a sound.

Logan found footing on a large root that canvased it's way up the hill and used it as a pathway toward the peek. Lighting crashed, followed swiftly by the roar of thunder. Suddenly Logan could see it all. An open grass plain, with a careful selection of towering trees that covered the area. The men were masked and shrouded with bulletproof vests, I.D dogtags, cammo pants, and boots, military issue. They roamed the scene, weapons armed and ready to fire at a moments notice. Logan scoffed at their use of the flashlights they had attached to their guns. It'd make his job far more enjoyable, and easier to savor the expressions of terror across their faces when he went in for the kill. _Ah, target practice._

One of the ground units spoke into his radio. Logan's sharp hearing listened in on the conversation.

"Alpha Five, this is Ground Squadron Delta. The perimeter is secure. Awaiting further instructions."

"Hold tight solider. We're on route for rendezvous. Extraction is ten minutes out."

"Understood."

Logan leaped from his standing and grabbed an overhanging branch that dangled in front of him. It splintered and nearly broke under Logan's weight. Logan corrected his balance and regained his forward momentum as he silently walked across the tree's thick branch. The first man stood under him, arms out, and trigger ready. Logan smirked. He craved the kill. He bent down, gripped the bark fiercely and waited patiently for his unsuspecting victim to move. The moment the gunman stirred the hunt was on. Logan slowly stood and stared the man down. He followed as his prey walked away from the edge of the tree, crossing his feet with exact precision. The branch began to crack as Logan neared its end. _Shit._ He was motionless.

"What was that?" The gunman peered around his surrounding and discovered nothing. He turned toward his right and began walking in the direction of noise.

A distorted voice called out over the radio receiver. "What's got ya spooked this time Smitty? Did a bird land on a branch and make you piss yourself again?"

Still laughter.

"Look at you Garret, _Mr. Funny Man_. I hope your ass gets mauled by a snake." Smitty

_I promise bub, you won't even feel a thing._ In one motion Logan lunged at Smitty, extended his claws and pierced the back of his neck, killing him instantly and without a sound.

The second target was near. Logan saw him disappear behind a field not thirty seconds south of the area. At this rate, he'd have them all picked off in a matter of minutes. This hadn't been the challenge he hoped for, but it was enough to satisfy even his simplest desire. He couldn't argue the fact. It was still fun. Logan stalked the second gunman to a decaying bridge that crossed over a shallow creek, and hid behind a large tree. He peered out and saw the man standing in place, pausing only to unzip the seam of his pants. The gunman moaned in pleasure as he pissed into the creek. Logan slid out from behind the tree and quietly approached the bridge, clawsless. _Pour sap doesn't even see me comin'._ His claws grew from the gaps between his knuckles. He dug them in the gunman's back while covering his mouth with his free hand. Logan let the man gasp and come to terms with his end before dropping his lifeless corpse in the creek. _Sorry bub, not your day_.

Guns cocked behind him. "Don't move Mutie."

"Alright. Now there's a party" Logan said in his deep, grizzly voice. He turned around and grinned. "We both know how this ends. Take your best shot." _This is gonna hurt._

Logan took on the stance of a savage beast and prepared for the remaining guards to open fire. Each piercing round left the barrel with enough force to fatally wound a normal man. Not for the Wolverine. Logan pushed the ballistic assault with a feral roar sufficient to shake the fur of a four ton grizzly. The bullets rippled Logan's flesh but refused to silence the advance of his coming fury. Like pellets, the rounds ricocheted off his adimantium bones and ended up a mutilated waste on the ground.

Logan's flesh resembled a deformed ravage brute that had been bathed in blood. His healing factor was rejuvenating his organs faster than they could be torn apart; a nauseating sensation, one Logan never became accustomed to. Every inch of him ached with a raging pain. His muscles were raw, rigid, and pleaded for mercy; for Logan to collapse and welcome death on the murk soil soaking beneath. Logan was a survivor, a fighter, who's lone urge was to feast on a punishment only the taste of blood could satisfy.

The gunfire was brutal, and unrelenting. Logan set is eyes on his quarry. He heard a shift in the man's pulse. It beat rapidly, aggressively. A sick grin formed along Logan's face as he showed his teeth. Logan lunged toward the man, sliced the assault rifle in half and buried his claws deep into the heart of his prey. In a swift motion he pulled him around and heaved the lifeless corpse toward the second gunner, who's ballistics were swallowed by the mass that struck him. Logan lunged toward the gunmen, claws out, and impaled them through their chests before their bodies made contact with the ground. The Wolverine forced his claws from their cold flesh and let them slide back in his hands. Logan examined the soldier's dogtags in a ravish, petty amusement and tore them from their necks. _O'Riley and Harrison...more respected soldiers would have put up a better fight._ He pushed the metal plated tags in his pocket and took off after the final hired gun.

The timberland was daunting for Garret. When his commanding officer approached him with this mission he was hesitant and less than eager about his prospects. He could do battle in a deserted ghost town with the best of them, but being trapped in with a ravaged wolf-man was career sabotage. Give him a sniper and a faraway target, and you had your man. There was none better. He had to admit the thought of gorilla warfare could provide an added improvement to his list of recent and otherwise dull accomplishments. For that idea he welcomed the challenge, no matter how pessimistic his views of success were or how they would interfere with his performance.

Garret had lost a lot of good men under his leadership. Most of the causalities were the result of highly trained and decorated soldiers they were privileged to combat, rather than poorly executed assaults. This field was different. He wasn't hired to do a traditional battle, although any team under his authority were expected to be prepared for one at all times. Ground Squadron Delta was assigned to survey ten acres of woodland in a crude attempt to prevent a runaway mutant from leaving the premises. Intel specified the mutant in question was no immediate threat, but recent actions disproved that assumption. Because of a technical error, several good men had paid the price with their lives. His only mission now was ensuring their senseless deaths were not in vain. The mutant needed to be silenced.

Garret found shelter behind a large tree with a base consumed with overgrown weeds. He was safe for the moment, but he sensed he didn't have much time in his present location. He separated the magazine from his assault rifle and peered inside. Only a few rounds left. Garret reconnected the magazine to his rifle and strapped it behind his back. He pulled a hunting knife from a holster strapped to his left leg and rose slowly against the bark of the tree, clenching the knife firmly in his right hand. Looking across the terrain, Garret saw Logan approaching, nose flinching in the wind; an acknowledgment the beast was tracking him. He pulled his head out of sight and hid it behind the tree and looked above him to the countless thick, overhanging branches. Taking several, silent and heavy breaths to calm his rapid heartbeat. Garret placed the knife in his mouth, bit into the handle and began to scale the tree.

From the side of the tree Garret saw Logan stop cold in his tracks. His eyes were fixed ahead, but Garret couldn't tell if he was staring out in the distance or if he was concentrating hard to listen in on any sudden movement. Still, he paused for the moment. His pulse was rapid; his heart pounding. The sweat from his forehead stung his eyes, leaving his sight jarred and blurry. He crept along the tree silently without another distraction and grabbed hold of the highest branch. Garret balanced himself perfectly and pulled the knife from his mouth. Logan remained motionless directly under him. His claws hadn't been drawn, but Logan maintained an attack ready position. Garret grabbed a second knife that was strapped on his right ankle. This was it, his moment. The mutant displayed no signs of going down without a fight. Garret expected nothing less.

Garret leaped toward Logan, blade drawn. Logan, hearing everything, turned around and spread his claws. Logan struck Garret in the left shoulder while Garret simultaneously pierced Logan's abdomen, which healed within moments. Screams echoed from both men as they fell to the ground. Logan kicked Garret in his stomach and thrust him opposite the tree. Quickly, they returned to their feet and took a fighting stance. Their eyes locked, their arms upright and guarded. Logan moved first. He carried his right arm at a perfect right angle with his fist placed directly beside his head and left hand straight out. Garret dodged with precision and Logan's claws dug deep into the bark of the tree behind him. Logan's sliced at the wind with his free hand and cut the tree in half with the other. Garret braced for another barbaric attack. Logan was wounded but his impulse indicated he wasn't about to slow down. Garret smiled under his mask and prepared his defense. Logan let out a fierce, primal roar and engaged his opponent in a brutal knife fight. Strike for strike, Garret matched Logan's raw intensity and countered every blow, evading his metal assaults eloquently.

Through a series of quickly paced attacks, Logan stabbed Garret through his right wrist and severed his hand. Garret's voice was horrid. Logan threw him down. Garret quickly reached for his assault rifle and shot Logan through his chest and abdomen with his remaining rounds. Logan stumbled from the shear nature of the blasts but balanced himself before he could fall to the ground. Garret's assault rifle clicked, and within seconds his ammo had been depleted. Logan's face turned from enraged to berserk. His brows narrowed, his nose wrinkled, and his eyes resembled that of a savage beast. Logan grabbed Garret by the neck, raised him above his line of vision and repeatedly gutted him. Garret let out a series of soft cough and wept blood before Logan tossed his mutilated body aside.

Logan breathed heavily and scoffed at the lifeless corpse that lay below him. He spat his blood at Garret's remains and sighed. The scenery shifted and slowly began to fade from existence. The woodland terrain and the murky, stormy skies was replaced by reflective metal walls and high energy LED lights. Suddenly everything was dry and bright again. Logan looked up at the empty control room above him. An automated voice sounded through the room. _DANGER ROOM SESSION COMPLETE. _The metallic doors opened and Logan walked out.

Logan had to admit, he was impressed with how Hank was able to enlist the A.I with emotions over a select list of per-programmed backgrounds. It made the exercise more authentic, one he chose to indulge in from time to time. He didn't expect the squad of mercenaries to put up much of a fight but he was pleased with how well the session was put together.

"Logan," a woman called out in a thick, African accent. Logan turned impulsively and gazed upon the cocoa colored beauty approaching him. The woman was a few feet taller than him even when he stood upright. He didn't encounter many dark skinned woman with white hair in his lifetime, but she was the only one who could actually pull the look off. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" She barked.

"Danger Room session. What's it look like darlin'? Thought I'd cool off before our little trip to the sticks." Logan grumbled.

"Charles is dying in the other room and you can't even be bothered enough to show you care. You're a part of this team Logan, and from time to time you need to acknowledge that."

Logan's short stature barely brought him to Storm's chin, but he brushed up close and made his distaste toward her statement known. "Look, I ain't one of your students you can bully into a lecture. I went in to clear my head. If this school didn't have some screwed up rule about alcohol, we wouldn't be having this conversation. So don't be blowin' smoke about something you don't understand."

Storm's eyes turned pale white. Logan's odor offended Storm. His breath smelt of cigar ash and stale bourbon, and his facial hair reeked of a large, wet, and dying mammal. Logan only let himself go this bad when he became distraught with an overbearing sense of grief. So in his strange way, Logan did care. "Fine. My mistake." Logan's back was turned, and hunched over. "Scott is prepping the jet. Are you going to join us?"

"What, and let you bang on those MRD freaks all by yourselves? Yeah, ain't no way I'm missin' that."

Storm flinched a smile at the rugged man.

"So, when we leavin'?"


End file.
